


Burst To Bloom

by PlaneJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Kink, M/M, Roleplay, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The responsibilities of being the nation’s most powerful and sought-after sorcerer sometimes weigh too hard.  Those rare nights, Merlin sends Arthur a message in their secret code.  And Arthur always knows exactly what to do; how to help Merlin unwind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burst To Bloom

Ever since Arthur got the text he’s been able to think of nothing except going home. He shuffles the remnants of the day’s paperwork into a neat pile, to present the illusion he actually did something for the last two hours. Not that he has to answer to anyone. It’s just that even as CEO of Pendragon Holdings, it’s hard to shrug off the feeling there’s always someone, somewhere, watching him, judging him. There’s no one but his conscience, of course, and on this matter his conscience is absolutely clear. He’s doing nothing he shouldn’t, except at the moment displaying an uncharacteristic lack of focus.

He tilts back a fraction on his chair as a loose sheet of paper flutters to the floor. It’s too far away to stretch for it, though he has a damned good try. It would have been quicker to get up, but where’s the novelty in that? 

A few more minutes pass in contemplation of the relative merits of a task completed with ingenuity over efficiency. Arthur pushes his feet out sideways and his chair rolls. He spins and picks up the paper as he completes a full circle, holding it high with a flourish. In his head, he can hear Merlin applauding, see him laughing with his head thrown back. Arthur smiles to himself. 

The minute hand of the clock on the wall climbs a snail’s pace upwards, reaching its apex while the hour hand drops—the two hands forming a perfect line. Arthur has an hour to get home—time enough to stop off on the way and get something, a little something for Merlin.

Arthur checks his phone again. No new texts. It’s committed to memory, but he stares for a long time at the one Merlin sent him earlier. 

_Get home for 7. I’ll be waiting for you. (m)_

The small, _embraced_ ‘m’ deliberately looks innocuous enough. It’s part of their code—a simple and private way for Merlin to tell Arthur what he needs. 

~~~

Only the hall light is on downstairs when Arthur comes through the front door. He locks and bolts it.

“Merlin? I’m home.”

“I’m up here, in the bedroom.” 

Arthur treads the stairs gently, his pace carefully measured, as though trying not to disturb a single dust mote, or press down too heavily with his feet and make the stairs creak. He pushes open the bedroom door to find Merlin sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing red and blue cotton-knit pyjamas, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his gaze downwards. His feet are bare and his legs crossed at the ankles. 

Merlin might at first look relaxed and pliant to the casual observer. But Arthur can see the flexing in his jaw and the creases in his forehead, even as his damp fringe hangs over it. The tension in his shoulders makes them jut, angry and square, stretching furrows into the soft, stretchy fabric of his pyjama top. 

Sitting on the bed alongside him, Arthur notices the empty glass on the bedside table, and feels the minute vibration in Merlin’s legs. While it’s necessary to move things along, Arthur is also aware that certain things must not be hurried. He runs his fingers through the dark, lush curls on the side of Merlin’s head. Arthur doesn’t need to get any closer to smell the fresh orange fragrance of the shampoo Merlin used; to see the blotches of rosy skin over his cheeks and neck where the bath water was hot.

Reaching into his suit-jacket, Arthur says, “I brought you home a treat.”

Merlin doesn’t look up as his hand reaches across for the small bar of milk chocolate. 

Arthur speaks low, with practised authority. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

Merlin softly gasps, still not lifting his gaze, and speaks in a higher-pitched, quieter tone than his usual voice. “Thank you … Daddy.”

Arthur’s stomach flips. He takes a moment then says, “You can have it while I take a shower. Don’t make a mess.”

In the bathroom, Arthur hangs his suit on the hanger left on the hook behind the door. He showers quickly, perfunctorily, anxious not to keep Merlin waiting. His cock automatically responds to the brusque slick and rub of the soap, urged by thoughts of what’s to come. Arthur ignores it, resists the temptation to give it a swift tug. It’ll be worth the wait.

Next to the bath there’s a sturdy metal chair, borrowed from the conservatory. It’s comfortable enough without the cushion on it, especially once Arthur puts on his thick towelling robe. Taking a last cursory glance around the bathroom, at the pile of extra towels by the sink and the candles burning in holders on the wall, Arthur switches off the light. The atmosphere in the bathroom changes instantly, from stark and bright and functional to something altogether more intimate and hushed. 

Seated on the chair, back straight as a king on a throne, Arthur commands, “Merlin, come into the bathroom, please.”

Merlin’s footfall is almost imperceptible, his face peeking around the edge of the door before he sets tentative toes onto the tile. The floor is heated. His hesitance has nothing to do with getting cold feet. In the sultry flicker of candlelight, Merlin’s eyes are bright, his pale skin radiant. 

Arthur stares at Merlin with his brow drawn tight, his hands rubbing slowly, firmly over the robe that covers his knees. Merlin, in turn, regards Arthur for a moment then hangs his head, the hint of a smile buried into his chest. He looks more at ease already.

“Don’t hover over there. Come. Do you want to sit on my lap?” 

Merlin nods. 

Arthur guides him to sit sideways, across his thighs, holding him in place with a steady arm on his back. Like a willow, Merlin curves his slender body, wrapping one arm around Arthur’s neck and resting his head upon his shoulder. Merlin’s not heavy, and it’s a comfortable position. They stay like this, close and silent, as Arthur presses gentle kisses to Merlin’s nose, to his exposed wrist, to his fingertips. Merlin smells of chocolate and soap. His jaw is smooth, the skin soft, shaved close. If Arthur shut his eyes, Merlin might indeed, were it not for his height, pass as a child breathing deep as sighs against his neck.

But Merlin isn’t a child. He’s a man: tall and strong, his muscles long, lean and taut. He’s clever, witty and brave. And on top of all that he’s the most sought-after sorcerer in the whole of Albion. People, sometimes entire cities of them, depend on him to bend and quell the forces of Nature, forces that could otherwise leave disaster in their wake. 

Merlin never complains—he wants to do it. He relishes and delights in using his power no matter how much it exhausts him. It’s just, sometimes, it all gets too much. Sometimes the demands are too extreme, the expectations too high or the stakes too great, and Merlin needs to forget for a while—how much people need him. That it helps to forget like this, well, Arthur understands. More than that, Arthur sometimes craves this from Merlin too—to feel desperately needed by someone who could have anyone he wanted. What they’re doing, it’s not all of who they are, what they are, but it’s a part of them. He tries not to dwell on the thought it’s a little messed up.

Arthur inhales deeply through his nose. “You smell so good, my darling. So clean.” Arthur pauses, breath hitching. “Did you remember to wash everywhere?”

“Yes.”

“Between your legs?” Arthur slides his hand up Merlin’s thigh and cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. Merlin’s cock is half swollen. 

Burying his face deeper into Arthur’s collar, Merlin softly groans. 

The towelling bathrobe offers tantalising, inadequate friction against Arthur’s skin. With Merlin on his lap, already becoming aroused, Arthur feels the prickle of sexual excitement in his own groin. He shifts his hips, relishing the chafe of his balls and cock hanging between his legs. He needs to be patient and careful. The skin over Merlin’s knuckles is drawn tight as he clings to the bathrobe, and his feet are tensed upwards though they could probably reach the floor if he relaxed his legs. 

Arthur uses his fingers to tilt up Merlin’s head, again recalling the empty glass. “Merlin? Did you pee before I came home?”

“Yes, before I got in the bath.” 

“And you washed properly?”

Merlin has bitten his bottom lip red. His lashes flutter. He stammers, “I did my best.”

“It’s very important, to keep yourself clean. Especially under the skin.” Merlin’s eyes crinkle at the corners, though he keeps a straight, serious face. Arthur has to bite the inside of his cheek, to take a steadying breath before adding, “I know you did your best, but I’m going to pull down your trousers to check.”

Merlin pouts and looks away.

The hem of Merlin’s pyjama top only just covers his belly. The elastic waistband of his pyjama trousers sits loose at the top of his hips. It requires little effort for Arthur to manoeuvre Merlin and tug the pyjama trousers down to his knees and settle him back on his lap. While Merlin doesn’t exactly help, he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t resist when Arthur pushes his knees apart and the trousers fall to his ankles. 

Merlin’s cock is soft enough it’s still nested to one side in his thick, dark pubic hair. Taking it between his fingers, Arthur rolls back the loose creases of his foreskin.

 _“Oh,”_ Merlin says on a sharp breath.

“Does that feel nice?”

_“Yes.”_

Arthur allows himself a low chuckle as he runs the backs of his fingers the length of the long blue vein in Merlin’s stiffening cock, touching his thumb to the slit on his cockhead before redirecting his attention to Merlin’s face. He runs his fingertips over Merlin’s plump bottom lip, brushes lightly over his cheekbone, his jaw.

“You did a good job. You make me so proud.”

Merlin’s nose wrinkles as he smiles, coy, and leans in to kiss Arthur’s cheek. Arthur notices Merlin’s hand, the one not around his neck, has dropped down and is clutching at the belt of Arthur’s robe. The burn of want flashes over Arthur’s skin, making his mouth dry. 

With a shaky breath, Arthur stills Merlin’s palm with his own. “Do you want to play a game?”

Merlin frowns. “What kind of game?”

“A learning game. I’m going to teach you how to do something.”

“What? What are you going to teach me?”

“Let me show you. If you’re good and patient, I’ll let you have a try after me.”

Merlin’s entire body seems to stiffen and at once relax. 

Arthur guides Merlin off his lap to undo his robe. Merlin stands still and straight in front of him; his cock close enough Arthur could envelope it in the wet warmth of his mouth, if they weren’t doing _this_. When Arthur parts the towelling, letting the robe fall open, he notices the muscles in Merlin’s legs twitch, and he visibly swallows. Merlin’s looking at Arthur’s erection, springing upwards over his belly. Arthur looks down at it too, desperate to touch his hot, needful skin—to have Merlin touch him—though not yet. 

Not yet. 

Drawing Merlin forward, Arthur guides Merlin’s feet out of the pyjama trousers still around his ankles. Placing his hands on Merlin’s bony hips, Arthur has him sit down astride his thighs. He instructs Merlin quietly, but firmly. “Hold on around my neck, and rest your feet on the floor, so you don’t lose your balance.”

There’s space enough between them that when Arthur looks down he can clearly see both their cocks, too far apart to be touching. 

Arthur runs his fingers lightly the length of his own shaft, trying to concentrate on speaking steady and calm. “You liked it when I touched you, like this?” 

“Yes.” Merlin hesitates before he asks, “Do you like it?”

“Yes, darling, I like it very much. See how it’s made me big and stiff?”

Merlin nods. His lips part as his breaths quicken, and a sheen of sweat glistens over the bridge of his nose. The colour is high on his cheeks and his eyes are bright and wide and alive. 

“If you keep touching yourself, like this, over and over,” Arthur says as his hand slow-strokes from base to tip and down again, “it can make you have a _really_ good feeling. There’s nothing like it. It’ll make you so happy.”

“Show me?” Merlin pleads, voice reedy and thighs squeezing against Arthur’s tightly. One of his legs is bouncing, only slightly but Arthur feels the rub of his skin. It speeds the heat building in his groin.

Arthur wanks himself painfully long and slow, exaggerating every flick of his wrist over the head of his cock, squeezing out and smoothing the moisture that’s beading from the slit. He pauses to lick his palm and resumes more quickly, allowing himself to release the low moans that he’s been stifling in the back of his throat.

“Is that the good feeling, Daddy?”

It’s almost too difficult to stop, to smile. “Not yet.” Arthur continues, “It _is_ good, but it’s going to be even better, very soon. I think I should take off your top so that we don’t get it dirty.”

Merlin doesn’t question Arthur as he takes the hem of Merlin’s top and lifts it up, over his head. Merlin pulls his arms out and Arthur throws it on the floor, on top of the trousers. Seeing Merlin straddling his lap, completely naked, Arthur is tempted, so tempted to suck and bite and scratch at every inch of his milk-white skin. Any other night, he’d trace the trail of black hair from Merlin’s navel to his cock, with his fingers and his tongue, and taste his belly, his cock, his hole. 

Not tonight though.

If Arthur pumped his cock fast and hard now, he’d come. He reins in the desire, and gets back to stroking himself languidly, enough to stretch out the pleasure without reaching a climax.

Mostly, Arthur looks at his cock, at the purpled head emerging from his fist as he pushes down. He casts his gaze up every few moments only to see Merlin’s reaction, to watch his face as he watches Arthur’s hand. Merlin’s cock hangs between them untouched, yet it’s almost erect. The muscles across his shoulders twinge and flex—the urge to give in warring with the need to hold on. 

It might not be long now.

It isn’t.

The tendons in Merlin’s neck flex and it looks like he’s holding his breath. When he starts to nudge his hips upwards, almost imperceptibly at first, Arthur knows. 

It’s time. 

“I’m going to touch you now—in the places it feels good. That way, when it’s your turn you’ll know what to do.”

The only sound Arthur hears in response is Merlin inhaling sharply. His grip around Arthur’s neck closes in—his forearms tight like a vice.

Keeping his right fist on his cock, Arthur moves his left hand from his balls and reaches an arm around Merlin. He gently runs his fingers upwards, skating over the bumps of Merlin’s spine, and down again over the crest of Merlin’s hip bone. He slides his palm, rubbing circles over Merlin’s buttock, and pushes his fingers down into Merlin’s crease and over his hole.

Merlin’s head drops and he makes a high noise in his throat, sounding truly surprised. He turns his head and breathes hard into his shoulder. “That tickles.”

“Hold still.”

Arthur moves his hand underneath, caressing the skin between Merlin’s tight hole and his balls. Merlin’s legs are long enough his feet can rest flat on the floor, but he rises up onto tiptoes, and rocks his hips forward and back, increasing the contact, silently begging for it. Arthur reaches further and finds Merlin’s balls, hanging loose and heavy between his legs. They move easily as Arthur runs his fingers over Merlin’s sac, relishing the way the skin gives beneath his fingers and Merlin yields to his caress. 

The head of Merlin’s cock nudges into Arthur’s. He’s hard. Arthur pauses, to give Merlin a chance to catch his breath, but Merlin’s thighs squeeze and his legs begin to visibly shake. Arthur withdraws his touch, placing a solid palm on Merlin’s abdomen. 

“Merlin? Do you need to pee again?”

Merlin nods into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whines softly, “I drank too much juice.”

Arthur sighs, as if this is a huge inconvenience. “We’re playing now and I’m nearly finished my turn. You’ll have to keep holding it until I’m done.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to help me?”

“All right.”

Merlin offers his hand, waiting for Arthur to place it on his cock. Enclosing Merlin’s fist with his own, Arthur clenches tightly and urges Merlin’s hand up and down his length. All the while, Merlin quivers and whimpers through the motion, and his cock begins to lose some of its hardness. 

At last he breathes, “I really need to go.” There are tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His whole body is wound tight as a coiled spring, his stomach pulled in so far Arthur could trace the line of every abdominal muscle flexing in the soft light and shadows cast by the candlelight. 

Arthur doesn’t relent. “Not now, I’m close. Just a bit longer, all right?”

Merlin can’t even nod. He keeps fisting Arthur’s cock, though the motion is erratic, as if it’s beyond his control, automatic and instinctual to keeping moving his fist over Arthur’s cock, as well as holding on to his full bladder. He has to—he has to do as he’s told, like all good children.

The familiar pull of climax is building and Arthur feels the pressure squeezing in his balls, lifting them as his cock approaches the final swell. At the same time, Merlin’s whole body goes rigid, his fist falters. He lifts his head, his back arching and his face tight and creased. His eyes are squeezed shut.

Arthur already knows what he’s about to say when Merlin manages to pant out an almost unintelligible, “I can’t … I need to …” 

For a split second, Merlin opens his eyes, and their gazes meet. Arthur’s face is too close to Merlin’s nod. He bites out, “All right.”

Merlin’s cock twitches and a spurt of piss emerges, arches up, hitting Arthur on his belly. It spreads warmly over Arthur’s skin. Merlin’s entire body is trembling and he’s sobbing and gasping as he releases another stuttered spray. 

Arthur grabs Merlin’s wrist and pulls him close, holding Merlin’s body flush to his, and soothes, “It’s all right, let it go.”

Merlin cries out as his body slumps, a dead weight, and pisses out the entire contents of his bladder with his cock trapped between their bodies. The hot liquid fills the space between them, covering Arthur’s belly and soaking into the robe, trickling over his hips and thighs, and dripping with hardly a sound onto the floor.

Arthur slides his hand over his cock and pumps furiously. He comes before Merlin stills, his hand and wrist and belly a wet, hot mess pressed firmly against Merlin’s heaving stomach. 

Merlin clings tightly to Arthur, as if ashamed to lift his face. Arthur rubs his back and waits.

With a final shudder, Arthur feels Merlin squeeze out the last drops of his piss on his forearm, and Merlin’s cock stiffening between them. Merlin eases his hips back a fraction, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“No need to ever be sorry for that. It’s all right, really, it’s all right.”

Taking Merlin’s face in his clean hand, Arthur wipes away the moisture from around Merlin’s eyes, swiping away the last of a tear clinging to his lashes. Merlin’s cock is flushed and hard, and a few drops of piss cling to the wrinkled skin at the tip. 

Merlin puts his fingertip in the wetness, but Arthur takes Merlin’s engorged cock in his hand and says, “Let me do it. Let me show you.” 

Without a word, Merlin blinks hard and nods, settling back on Arthur’s lap. 

Stroking Merlin’s cock firm and quick, slicked with his piss and Arthur’s semen, it doesn’t take long for Merlin to come. He groans deep and loud as he thrusts into Arthur’s fist, thick ropes of it shooting out, covering them both. 

When he’s spent, Merlin sags boneless against Arthur and murmurs, “Thank you.” 

Holding him tightly, Arthur kisses Merlin on his mouth, unhurried and tenderly. His kiss is returned, the familiar taste of Merlin’s tongue sliding against his own until their damp skin cools, and Merlin shivers.

It takes a long time to be able to move—their legs leaden and uncooperative as they shift slowly from the chair and regard the aftermath.

The mess isn’t that bad. Arthur presses warm flannels to their skin, and the soiled clothes and towels are thrown into the bath. They shuffle to the bedroom fresh and dry and naked. There are clean pyjama trousers, a staid blue stripe, and a plain blue t-shirt already laid across the end of the bed. Merlin slips into them and slides beneath the covers. Arthur pulls on sweats and dims the lights.

“There’s lasagne in the oven for you,” Merlin says softly, eyelids heavy.

“Don’t worry about me. Go to sleep.”

Arthur tucks in the covers around him, hoping this is enough to let him rest, to gather his reserves. He doesn’t want Merlin to worry—he does enough of that for both of them. Arthur strokes back Merlin’s hair. It’s a wild mess of curls that tangle in his fingers. 

Watching Merlin move into his touch, relaxed and unwound, Arthur says, “It’s going to be all right tomorrow.” He says it for himself, as much as for Merlin. 

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

Merlin’s fists uncurl into the duvet as he drifts off, turned on his side, his face still flushed. 

When they first met, Arthur used to marvel at how young Merlin looked when he was asleep. Not anymore. The decade has been kind, to both of them, but Merlin is stronger and wiser, and so much more now. Arthur can see that in the line of his jaw, the straightness of his shoulders and the power quivering at his fingertips, even when he sleeps. 

It takes Arthur’s breath away, to see it ebb and flow beneath what looks like just a man. And sometimes, on nights like this, it almost stops his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the beta, Venivincere. Really, _thank you so much._ This was written for us rare few who wanted to read … well, something like this.


End file.
